Chapter 5 Ava #2
With a smile on my face, I settled down to do my assignments and promised not to give one more minute of my attention to Jett freaking Santo.
* * *
I woke up sweating and panting, completely disoriented. My tank top was stuck to my body, and my sleep shorts were twisted around my hips and thighs.
“Ava?” Mia’s voice sounded from outside my door. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?” Wetting my lips, I tried again. “Yeah, um, sure,” I said as I rose up onto my elbows and looked around the dimly lit room. There was no sound and little light. Sliding my legs out of bed, I crossed the floor and opened the door.
Mia was on the other side, looking as disheveled as I felt, her skin tacky with sweat.
“Generator out?” I guessed.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Fuck, it’s like an oven in here.” Gathering my hair up into a pile, I tilted my head back.
Our humble little apartment lost electricity more than it probably should.
We’d spoken to the college housing department, and they assured us it was a fluke that would be fixed.
That was twelve months ago. Every month, sometimes twice, the generator would fail, and for an evening, we would either freeze or overheat. This month, it was overheating.
Tennessee nights at this time of year were hot, muggy, and sticky. I wanted a shower.
“How long’s it been out?” I asked Mia as I headed to the fridge.
“Not sure, your moaning woke me up.”
“Wh . . . what?” I stammered as I turned to look at her.
“I thought you were having a nightmare at first,” Mia told me as she leaned against the counter. “And then I thought you had a guy in there with you.”
“A guy?” I knew my eyes were wide as saucers as I stared at my best friend, who was watching me curiously.
“Yeah, you were moaning.”
“A bad dream, I’m sure.” Turning my head away from her, I ran the water and filled two glasses. I avoided eye contact as I handed her a glass. “Whose turn is it to complain to housing?” I asked her as I took a sip.
“Yours.”
“Dammit.” With a resigned sigh, I headed back to bed. Pushing the window open, I hoped for a small breeze to cool the room. When I felt nothing except more heat, I tidied up the covers and climbed onto my bed.
I should have bought a fan. But then they only worked with electricity, and we currently don’t have any.
“Night, Ava,” Mia called through the closed door, and I mumbled a goodnight back to her.
I sounded like I was moaning? As I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I tried to think about what I was dreaming of. Closing my eyes, I decided it wasn’t worth worrying about. I needed sleep because I had a full day of classes tomorrow, and I had to fit in a trip to housing.
Strong hands slid down my sides as my body arched to meet his. His mouth captured mine in a hot, searing kiss, his tongue stroking mine as his hips drove relentlessly into me . . .
My eyes flew open as I sat up straight. Oh shit.
I was having a wet flipping dream about Jett? As I shifted restlessly on my bed, my lust rose once again, and the throbbing in certain parts of me intensified.
Biting my lip, I turned onto my side. It had felt real. Like he had been here. My subconscious was remembering him more than I actually remembered him.
“He got a blow job in class, Ava,” I reminded myself crossly. “You’re lying here thinking about someone who doesn’t deserve it, and he’s already moved onto someone else.”
Flopping over onto my back, I took in a deep breath.
The ache between my legs was still there.
The need to be satisfied hadn’t lessened, even with my sharp reminder of who my body was craving.
I was a healthy nineteen-year-old girl, I had urges, and my hand had always been enough.
These walls were a little thicker than paper but not much.
In the apartment I lived in with mom before I came here, the walls were thin.
I didn’t make loud noises at any time, but as I lay in the dark, staring into the shadows, fragments of images and sounds danced out of my reach.
I remembered a cry, a gasp, an elusive feeling with the promise only he could deliver.
One night.
I was with him for one night, and now he was haunting my dreams. Nightmares, more like.
The fact that my subconscious was throwing up visions of us tangled together was not welcome, nor was it something I wanted to experience again.
Thumping my head back onto the pillow, I groaned and then hastily covered my mouth.
I did not need Mia coming back to the door.
With a disgruntled sigh, I spread my legs more and slipped my hand under my shorts. I would take care of this. I would not think of him. This was perfectly natural. I had nothing to be ashamed of. This would get him out of my system. That’s all this was: residual want.
I didn’t actually want him. My body just needed release.
My fingers started to work on my problem, and as I closed my eyes, willing the finish line to be quick, I steadfastly refused to think of the cause of my discomfort.
Seriously, how long would it be until I was free of this guy?